Thursday, December 18, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 148

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's
Thursday today so get your flash ready to celebrate and write a
#flashfiction thread! Welcome to Week 148 of #ThursThreads, the
challenge
that ties tales together. Just a short message: there will be NO #THURSTHREADS next week for the Christmas holiday, but there WILL BE #THURSTHREADS ON NEW YEAR'S DAY 2015. If you're able to join us, we'll be here. Want to keep up each week? You're welcome to
join the FB #ThursThreads group where we'll do events and make announcements. Need the rules? Read on.

Here's how it works:

The prompt is a line from the previous week's winning tale.

The prompt can appear ANYWHERE in your story and is included in your word count.

Rules to the Game:

This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.

Incorporate the prompt anywhere into your story (included in your word count).

Post your story in the comments section of this post

Include your word count (or be excluded from judging)

Include your Twitter handle or email (so we know how to find you)

The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time

The winner will be announced on Friday, depending on how early the judge gets up.

How it benefits you:

You get a nifty cool badge to display on your blog or site (because we're all about promotion - you know you are!)

31 comments:

"A few more hooks and they’d be done hanging.”“Very funny, Kyle; but I don’t think Cecily will like her presents exposed to all on Christmas,” I commented, but what I really thought was it wouldn’t fit her, but maybe me.“She’ll love my presents,” Kyle insisted.“Yes, exactly, your presents!”“But it’s red lingerie, you’ve hung like stockings.” I protested, “Do you have something else?”“Yes, I did, Nancy.” Kyle answered soberly, “This.”Kyle then pulled out the biggest diamond ring I’d ever seen. My heart dropped into my stomach. I’d lost him he’d never see me as the love of his life. I’d only ever be his friend“Congratulations,” I answered trying to sound happy and then made excuses to leave.Late that night Kyle dropped by my house. Cecily had refused him. We got drunk and the next thing I knew we woke up in bed together, me in that lingerie.“Good morning,” Kyle said to me oddly seductive.“Good morning,” I answered awkwardly then stared at my hand and gasped. “What? You forgot we get married last night, wife?”“But you gave this ring to Cecily,” I protested.“You are my heart, my stars, and the love of my life; who has always been there. I finally saw that. That is why I married you. I love you Nancy Gregory.”“I love you too but that’s Nancy Karl-Gregory buster.” As Kyle took me in his arms, it was the best Christmas ever.246 words @SweetSheil

Jacey watched from the window, a mug of steaming coffee held forgotten in her hand. Outside, little Grace shook a finger at Nate. On a ladder. Putting up Christmas lights. Joy, a too-smart eleven, fed a long line of lights up to the man she’d claimed as her father. That Nate had rescued her from a lab run by a madman probably affected her judgment because Jacey was quite certain they’d lost their minds.

Sean. This was all Sean’s fault. He’d started this war. And infected every blasted Wolf. Retired warriors, the men were now bored with small-town life. What better way to work out their aggression than by installing more Christmas lights, building bigger displays, and generally trying to one-up the others.

When the phone rang, she wasn’t surprised to hear Hannah’s voice.

“They’re crazy. Liam up in the very top of the tree. That boy is going to fall and die. I will then be forced to kill his father.”

Jacey didn’t laugh. She understood, having ordered Joy off the roof not ten minutes ago despite her insistence that a few more hooks and they’d be done hanging. Nate dropped to the ground, grinned like a loon, and nodded. Joy plugged the cord into the outlet. Lights blazed. Flickered. The house went dark. Along with the neighborhood. Then the town.

Hannah hung up. Outside, Joy and Nate high-fived. There was more than one way to win.

The midday sunshine was baking the dry valley, it was a very fine day. The buoyant posse sat beneath the welcome boughs of the bristlecone pine drinking a toast to success amid much laughter. Nearing the end of their long and hard fought endeavours they could almost taste home-cooked food and feel the warm embraces of their loved ones.

At the top of the hill Cyrus Hook swung gently in the hot breeze beneath the hanging tree- a limp symbol of the ongoing destruction of his murderous gang. It was nearly over, a few more Hooks and they’d be done hanging.

She vaguely remembered Christmas. Something about a tree and an old man with a white beard.

Michael, Hannah and Sorin were busy putting the finishing touches around the assembly hall. A few more hooks and they'd be done hanging the dozen or so mistletoe. She tried to suppress a grin when she thought back to the night before when Michael explained mistletoe to her and gave her a quick demonstration.

Christmas... She tried to remember. The search engines weren't much help. Most had to be rebuilt after they'd fled from Earth.

None of the others on the drifter colony seemed to recall very much either. John, the itinerant preacher, rambled about someone called Jesus and a star in the night sky, but what that all meant was a mystery.

"We need to give them hope," Michael said, when she laughed at his idea.

"Mistletoe will do that?" Shiloh said, skeptical.

"You'll see." Michael's confident smile and deep blue eyes won her over for the moment and she gave her approval.

Three hours later the assembly hall was filled with colonists and food and drink. There was laughter...and dancing, something she hadn't seen since the Gyere invasion.

The aroma of flowers filled the air—lavender, chamomile, roses, and lilacs just to name a few. A riot of colors suspended from the ceiling, and drying in the warm air of the attic.

“A few more hooks and they’d be done hanging,” Grandmother Mildred said, wiping a withered hand over her brow. “A pretty sight they are, but I can’t stand the smell after a while.”

Ingrid hid her amusement behind a polite cough, her great grandmother said the same thing year after year. Granted the perfume did become overpowering, but much better than working in the stench of the pigsty outside. This was their contribution to the farm, the wealthier families in the neighboring town paid good money for their dried bouquets that added beauty and aromatics to their homes.

A door clicked closed downstairs, the men were back with supplies. Ingrid brushed her hands together, and smiled at her grandmother. “Thanks for the help.”

Glass clinking, the shifting of canvases, the breezy passage of people.

Chaos—just how he liked it.

Anson Ferrars strode through his gallery as the featured artists and their hangers-on clustered and tinkered with their individual displays. Opening day at the Ferrars Gallery would be attended by All Who Mattered in their seaside community, and rumor had it that an A-Lister from Los Angeles would be making an appearance.

Ferrars smiled to himself. Oh, there were rumors…

Voices decorated the spaces between the artists’ sections.

“Need a few more hooks and—“

"They’d be—“

“Done hanging them up, boss.”

“Ah, hell, here? But—“

Anson stopped at that; he didn’t want any trouble. Approaching a pair of androgynous young people, he inquired, “Can I help you?”

The blond of the pair blew out a breath. “No. It’s fine, sir. Really. I just saw someone.”

“Someone you know?”

The redhead nodded shortly and made a subtle hand motion toward the door. “Former boyfriend. Messy.”

Anson’s lips twitched in a half-disguised smile. “Indeed.” He turned to fully see who was at the door and his eyes popped. “Former boyfriend? Him?” It was the A-Lister. Anson swallowed. Hard. “I’m sure we can be adults about this, yes?”

After getting an assurance from the duo, Anson directed his steps to the newcomer’s side. “Hello, sir. It’s an honor to have you join us a day early.”

"Yes, I want all that mates have. The respect, the admiration, and the interaction. The—"

"The intimacy?"

"Yes, that, too." Ronin tilted his head. "That's why I shared my father's Solistice Grog recipe with you. It's a family recipe and not for outsiders."

Sedgewick riased his brows. "Why didn't you say anything to me before tonight?"

Ronin shrugged. "Fraternization was certainly an issue, but until I met you, I'd never been distracted by domestic pursuits." He grasped Sedgewick's cloak tightly and studied the stitching, inexplicably shy.

"You mean by mares."

Ronin shook his head. "By anyone. The military life was everything to me." He retreated to the wall beside the door and hung Sedgewick's cloak beside his own. A few more hooks and they'd be done. Hanging Sedgewick's clothes next to his warmed Ronin's heart more than he expected.

"No, you haven't. I know I'm not saying this right." Ronin frowned and clenched his fists in hopes he'd squeeze out some coherency. "I never needed anyone until you joined the cohort. Then I couldn't help but notice everything about you. Your kindness, compassion, strength of will despite your repeated failures at being a soldier. Hellfire, Sedgewick, most of those men would have thrown up their hands and turned tail. You never gave up. You impressed the daylights outta me."

Hope stood back to check his work, but felt there was still something missing. He stepped forward again and started moving them about, trying to form some kind of symmetry, or pattern that made sense outside his head.

Words 196@PurpleQueenNL

It was tough going and he had broken out in a sweat. He pulled his jumper off and continued, not caring for once about his nudity, not here in the basement. The single unshielded bulb illuminated everything in a flat, stark light, but it also cast deep shadows across his chest and stomach. This pleased him. He didn’t want to see the scars from all those years ago.

As he moved a limb here, and a torso there, Hope realised he was almost done - a more few more hooks, and they’d be done hanging; although he’d take a couple of photos first, just for his own records. Then he’d take them down and think about putting together the next piece. It wasn’t going to be easy. He’d gone through all of those who’d mocked him through school, now he needed to find work colleagues. He’d teach them what hope really meant, especially when it was taken away.

A few more hooks and they’d be done hanging, observed Delany before switching off the monitors. He didn’t need to see it being done to know it would be done and done properly. That was the art of delegation and he knew it would be ready by morning.

Delany was last to arrive at the table, not uttering a word as he sat before the seven men gathered before him. He sipped on a glass of iced water, seeing a couple of the men squirm in their seats. He liked that. Already, he was winning.

“You know why you’re all here,” began Delany. “What’s it to be?”

“You can’t run everything. We fought hard for territory,” said Frazer, the one Delany had to convince as the others would follow like sheep to the slaughter. He liked the pun.

A vague curling of Delany’s thin lips passed for a smile. “This will change your mind.” He picked up the remote control, turning on the large flat screen. With his back to the screen he watched the faces in front of him, all focused, trying to make out what they were seeing. Then the rapid realisation took hold, their faces contorted in spasms of shock, the colour draining to leave a grey mask. One fled the room, his retching echoing along the hallway.

“My boys must have done a good job.” He inhaled deeply, pausing the image. “Now, I’ll ask one more time. What’s it to be?”

A few more hooks and they’d be done hanging the stockings: one for Pricilla, who would come home from the NICU just in time for Christmas, one for Eliza, and one each for Jimmy and Jacoby.

“There,” Jacoby said, standing back to admire their work. He looped an arm around Jimmy’s waste and kissed his cheek.

“Shame Penny isn’t here.”

Jacoby’s eyes followed Jimmy’s to the silver urn on the mantel. A picture of Penny, minutes old, graced the front. She looked so peaceful, as though she were sleeping. Jacoby pulled in a trembling breath, jumping when the tree lights blinked on.

“At least Priscilla will be home for Christmas,” Jimmy said. His voice shook with emotion, his blue eyes dark.

Jacoby nodded. He remembered rocking his little girl after she'd passed, stroking her soft face. The sound of little feet on the hardwood drew him from his memory.

“Daddies! Time for Santa?!”

Their two year old daughter Eliza came barreling through the living room. Her happiness was contagious and Jacoby smiled at Jimmy, as he swooped Eliza into the air.

“Not yet. Your sister has to come home first. After that, it will be time for Santa.”

“Yay!” Eliza squirmed to be let down and darted for the window, tiny blue eyes gazing over the snow-covered yard. “I’ll wait.”

About Me

Siobhan Muir lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming, with her husband, two
daughters, and a vegetarian cat she swears is a shape-shifter, though he's
never shifted when she can see him.

Siobhan writes kick-ass adventure with hot sex for men and women
to enjoy. She believes in happily ever after, redemption, and communication,
all of which you will find in her paranormal romance stories.